


Pretty Little Bird

by Looming



Series: If the Morning Comes [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous Relationships, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looming/pseuds/Looming
Summary: “Why,” Chloe exhales slowly. Softly. “Why the hell are you so comfy?”Dana doesn’t answer immediately. She gives the question space to breathe; space to step all the way back from her feelings and to keep her from saying something stupid.“You’re lying on my tit,” is where she lands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a direct followup to [Feathers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098667), and I strongly recommend that you read that one first if you haven't already.
> 
> Anyway! That's out of the way, I hope you all enjoy!

“ _Sooo,_ ” Dana’s mother smirks, combing lazy fingers through her hair — long and wavy and strawberry blonde — and drawing the single syllable out into five. She looks smug. The glass of wine in her hands _might_ be helping. A bit.

Still.

Dana knew this was coming. The inevitable, inescapable _tell me about the boys in your life_ segment of their weekly video calls. It’s like watching the world’s slowest moving horror movie monster crawl toward you. In slow motion.

When Dana makes no attempt at answering beyond a slight questioning quirk to her eyebrows — as if she doesn’t know _exactly_ what’s coming — her mother gives up with a huff and a lighthearted wave of her hand as if to say _fine, make me do all the hard work_ , and she finally finishes her question. “Any news about those boys? Trevor? And the other one? …Jake? John? Jerry?”

“Justin,” Dana blurts. Helpfully. _Hopefully_ helpfully. She starts wringing her hands into the waistband of her silk pajama shorts, under the desk and safely out of her laptop camera’s line of sight. Some uncontrollable lizard brain instinct wants to reach for her ponytail; to untie it and retie it and try this all again, but that might give away the game. That might give away her thoughts before she gets to explain them on her own terms. _It’s not boys so much these days, mom,_ is all she needs to say. Nothing else. Her mother would understand. It’s not like she’s any different. Or… Quiet about her being that way, for that matter. It’s just… _Cheerleader_. Drama student. Model. From the outside looking in, apparently all of that reads as _my daughter is into boys_ more than it does _my daughter has spent her entire life around girls, and, have you_ seen _girls?_ “His name is Justin. And, no.”

But…

“ _But,_ ” Dana adds, slowly, already glancing off and to the side, out the window to the falling snow as she swallows down a blush and the faint beginnings of a smile. Her thoughts drift back to _that_ night just one more time. Months and months and months, and only _now_ does she have the courage to mention it. Or her. No amount of obliviousness or red wine is going to talk her out of it after this much talking herself into it. “There is _someone…_ Sort of.”

Someone tall, and bright, and beautiful. Someone with tattooed skin and a smile like the sun; who tastes like cigarette smoke and smells like summer and is… completely… and totally out of reach.

_Sort of._

It’s complicated.

“Tell me about him, sweetie,” Dana’s mom says. She downs around a third of her glass in one gulp. It’s how Dana knows she’s _really_ listening. She only drinks fast when she’s interested.

And it makes Dana bite down on the edge of her tongue. She forces herself into something close to a smile. “It’s — _she_ , mom. She.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

She bites down the slightest bit harder.

“Well! Good for you, I didn’t — ”

And, then, like a tidal wave of relief and brand new anxieties all wrapped up into one package, Chloe barges into the room. She’s only half-wearing her jacket, one sleeve half-hanging on by her elbow as she half-walks unsteadily forward with blood-matted hair clumping up around her eyes and her nose and her mouth. And she is _loud_. Drunk and happy, and covered head to toe in scrapes and cuts and the faint beginnings of bruises. It takes seeing her bang a knee against the coffee table near the couch and nearly trip and fall her way across the room, dropping a greasy paper bag of diner burgers onto Dana’s desk in the process, to shock her back to reality.

It takes seeing her smile like nothing is wrong as she leans too close over her shoulder, one hand balanced impossibly close to either shoulder, her chest nearly pressed up against the back of her neck, and her every breath ghosting too close to her skin to spring into action.

“Chloe,” Dana starts, and stops, swallowing around the sudden dryness of her throat. “Chlo, what happened?”

Chloe only offers a slow, oddly eloquent shrug in answer before she drifts, or trips, or maybe stumbles her way closer. Until her cheek bumps Dana’s. Until Dana’s breath burns to a crisp next to Chloe’s warmth and Chloe’s breath escapes in one slow to build stream of perfectly innocent laughter.

She slurs her way through a mostly coherent thought before Dana manages to remember how to breathe again. “Oh — oh _heyyy,_ Mama Ward! I didn’t know you were here!”

Dana manages one single hitched breath before Chloe pushes herself away and takes all of that heat with her, mumbling and giggling something too quiet to hear and completely hidden under her breath as she stumbles unsteady into the corner, onto the couch, and drops into a seat, legs sprawled out in front of her and arms spread out behind her.

For a moment too long, and then another and another, Dana stares. She stares and she works her jaw against the steady friction of anxiety bubbling its way up past her stomach and into her throat where it strangles every attempt at words into nothing. She knew. Dana _knew._ In as much as she knew because _everyone_ knows, because Arcadia is small, and people talk, and anyone with two eyes and a working brain understands exactly what sort of person David Madsen is.

But.

Seeing Chloe here, now, like _this?_

She didn’t know. She _couldn’t_ have known.

It takes one more moment to gather herself back together. To close her eyes, and steady her breath, and push out the words, “Chlo, please talk to me.”

In any other situation, she might be happy to see Chloe’s smirk grow wider. It would mean everything is okay. That she’s happy, and she’s teasing, and she wants Dana to know it. But not this time. Not this smirk. This feels wrong. It feels wrong, and it’s not an answer, and neither is the way she drops her head forward like she’s pointing at Dana’s desk, but there’s nothing on Dana’s desk except those stupid fucking burgers, and —

“Dana, sweetie?”

Oh.

Right.

She whips herself back around toward the screen.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yes. Everything is fine, mom. I have to go.” The tremble in her voice is new. It is also very, _very_ noticeable.

Dana closes her laptop, ending the call without waiting for an answer and shoving herself out of her chair before she has any more time to think on what sort of scolding she just invited on herself for tomorrow. Chloe is here, and maybe she doesn’t know _why_ Chloe is here, just like she didn’t know Chloe had it this bad, but Chloe is _here._

And she needs Dana’s help.

Is what she would think, had she not been greeted by the sight of Chloe struggling to light a cigarette from her spot on the couch. With a groan, and a grumble, Dana throws herself across the room as fast as she can to steal the cigarette, the box, and the lighter all out of Chloe’s hands. To tenderly place the cigarette back into its box and to place the entire stack of things somewhere off to the side. To finally meet Chloe’s eyes.

“Just _one,_ ” Chloe whines, shoulders completely slumped forward as she brings a single finger to her lips in a shushing motion. “There’ll barely even be any smoke.”

The comment finally gets Dana to crack a smile. Because even with everything else — the mystery and the injuries and the question of why Chloe is _here —_ Chloe _is_ here. Chloe is here and she’s pouting like a little puppy being forced to finally retire that years-old shredded-to-pieces chew toy of theirs. And when Dana takes Chloe’s hand into her own, the one with a finger still resting against her lips like she barely even remembers that it’s attached to her body, her smile grows fully into its own.

Chloe shocked speechless at something as small as holding hands is a rare enough sight to warrant it.

And so, to keep that momentum going, she sneaks a small kiss against Chloe’s cheek. And she smiles and smiles and smiles. “It’s never just one with you, Chlo. You’re a chimney.”

But Chloe smiles a new smile, then. One Dana hasn’t yet learned how to describe beyond the vague feeling that she might know Chloe the slightest bit too well for either of their sakes. All childishness and cheer creeping up through the curves of her lips to her cheeks and her eyes. All in service of masking the faint flicker of something building between them both ever since that night at the party. It’s a little harder to ignore every time Dana sees it. A little bit stronger. A little bit more capable of choking the air straight out of her lungs.

“Besides,” Dana says, lowering her lips to dance along Chloe’s knuckles. “You promised you would cut back for me, remember?”

She wants to cling to Chloe. She wants to hold her close and hold her tight until every last mystery of Chloe’s life and Chloe’s hurt comes to light and she is finally granted the chance to shoulder some of that pain herself. To help Chloe burn brighter.

But she knows that she can’t.

It would be like trying to keep fire in a bottle. Even with all of that hurt that she carries and even with all the help that she needs, Chloe is completely and totally unreachable. She’s something else, something more, something completely beyond description or definition and something destined to make women like Dana feel things like this. Chloe isn’t hers. She’ll never be hers. She understands that.

But.

_But._

Here Chloe is. Despite all of that, here she is. Barely two inches away. She should be happy about that! Instead, those two inches feel worse to Dana than miles. _Miles_ she could ignore. Miles she — very frequently — _does_ ignore.

But inches?

Inches put Chloe here. Inches say to Dana that she has no choice but to dive headfirst into everything Chloe is until she comes out the other side waterlogged by too many feelings to name and far too guilty for words.

And so, she dives. Because as painful as the aftermath might be, the alternative is far too hard to imagine.

Maybe thankfully, maybe not, Chloe deflects.

“Not like _you_ never smoke in here,” she pouts, threading one hand through Dana’s hair just a bit too deliberately to be absentminded. Petting, scratching, combing through it all as she throws one more glance off toward the burgers still sitting on the other side of the room. Chloe undoes Dana’s hair tie while her attention is there — just a bit too adeptly to feel like an accident — in one smooth motion, soothing and stroking her away from that thought and away from the realization that she’s on her knees, between Chloe’s legs, staring up, and up, and up, into dark blue eyes filled with as much wonder as the night sky itself.

Chloe’s touch brings her to this: the rest of the world fading away until all that remains is the two of them. Dana, breathless and hopeless and not sure what to say; not sure she could even _define_ this particular sort of speechlessness. And Chloe. Smiling that perfect smile of hers. Lazy and lopsided and filled to the brim with heavy eyes and steady breaths and too much satisfaction in the way this moment has played out; almost _accidentally_ seductive like she isn’t _really_ staring at Dana right now. Like she isn’t seeing her, here, in in front of her. Like she isn’t seeing her, here, completely willing and completely at her mercy. Like all of this might really be an accident. Like she really doesn’t get it. Even though they both know with every fiber of their beings that Chloe is never _accidentally_ anything.

And then she blinks.

And it feels, suddenly, like it really, truly was nothing more than an accident.

Dana feels the the full weight of the air slam itself back against the walls of her lungs.

She lets Chloe have that moment. Whatever it was. She lets Chloe continue to brush her fingers through her hair like she still barely registers the movements of her own limbs.

She lets Chloe have it.

“Hey,” Dana says, ducking her head to the side to try and catch Chloe’s gaze. “Why are you really here, Chlo? Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

Dana counts every last one of her breaths until Chloe gives up the act. Until she decides to answer.

One. Two. Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

“I picked the lock. Criminal genius, remember?” She says, giving her very best shot at a new smile. A new smirk. A new way to say that everything is perfectly fine. It doesn’t work. Because of course it doesn’t work when she already dropped the act.

Dana lifts her hands, dragging them up and down along Chloe’s legs until they settle at her knees. She leans just slightly closer. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Fine, I kicked the door in,” she tries again. Still refusing to answer the question or admit that Dana can see clear as day how deep her hurt runs.

Which is why Dana stares. Why Dana’s lips pull themselves into a tight line.

“God. Fuck. _Fine,_ it was already open,” Chloe finally gives up with a huff, her voice cracking and crumbling and falling apart to unsteady pieces with every new word. Before Dana can stop it, Chloe is pulling away. She’s pulling her knees up to her chest. Pressing one hand hard against her forehead in what might be an attempt to bury her face and stave off tears, and what might be an attempt to wipe away the blood, but turns out to be something like both. “I can’t — I can’t go to Rachel. I can’t let _this_ be the first fuckin’ time we talk to each other after I acted like the biggest asshole on the goddamn planet.”

Dana watches in helpless silence as Chloe hisses out a muted _fuck, fuck, fuck._ As she pulls her hand away, and _sees_ the blood, and continues on mumbling worried nothings to no one in particular and as she buries her face in her knees to keep Dana from seeing.

One deep breath later, and Dana moves. She climbs swiftly to her feet and leans forward, one hand on each of Chloe’s shoulders

“Okay, Chloe. Strip.” Dana says. She tucks away the feeling of pride that washes over her with Chloe’s sudden wave of flustered embarrassment for later. Now isn’t the time.

Chloe shakes her head, once, twice. “S’fine. M’fine. Just wanted company.”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Dana says, leaning the smallest bit forward to hook fingers underneath the hem of Chloe’s shirt. She doesn’t pull. Doesn’t force the issue. But she does keep talking. She does keep Chloe from sinking back into herself. “If I don’t want to take your word for it. I need to know that you’re looking okay under there.”

The only answer she gets is Chloe’s continued pouting. So, she slides her fingers up and along Chloe’s sides, only hesitating long enough to suck in a single, sharp breath at what she feels.

“Chloe,” she tries again. Maybe another angle will work better.

Chloe meets her eyes.

And Dana takes a slow breath.

“Please trust that if I was going to try and get into your pants again, I’d be a little more subtle about it than _telling you to please take off your_ _pants._ ”

It works.

Chloe looks away and bites down a smile. She bites down a laugh, leaning forward to drop her forehead onto the top of Dana’s. And she strips.

“Thank you, now… hold on,” Dana says, scrambling over to her windowsill to grab the nearly frozen water bottle she had resting there. When she returns, she digs around in her closet for a towel and wets it down. She only realizes Chloe is staring when she finishes. So, to make her _stop_ , she drops the bottle firmly into Chloe’s hands and taps at her own cheekbone in explanation.

“Hold it there,” she says, and Chloe listens.

Chloe listens, and Dana kneels back down and takes in the sight of Chloe’s body. Nothing new is hiding under her shirt, at least. No _fresh_ injuries. There’s a little scrape on one knee that has just as much chance of being related to _this_ as it does being the result of an innocent skating accident. Nothing looks broken as far as Dana can tell, but she’s not an expert. Cheering really only taught her out to deal with superficial cuts and how to tell the difference between breaking your ankle or tearing a muscle.

But there are old bruises.

There are _so many bruises_. Each one telling a different part of a different story as they appear and disappear in opposite directions underneath her bra and the hem of her boxers. And Dana isn’t sure how to respond to that. Which is maybe part of why Chloe was shy, she thinks, until she feels a hand slip back through her hair. She looks up to see Chloe smirking back at her like she maybe expected that reaction after all. But she’s also tilting her head, just barely, and her eyes are lidded and dark and Dana wonders if maybe she didn’t, and maybe this is her way of comforting Dana through something that she isn’t quite sure how to explain.

Whatever it really means, and whatever it was meant to explain, the look in her eyes doesn’t stay for long.

Chloe allows Dana to look over her entire body. To see, and to fix, and to clean what she can while she gives up detail after detail after detail about her home life whenever Dana’s unasked questions start burning right through the air. She talks about how common this is for her. She even admits, finally, _finally,_ the real reason for her and Rachel’s breakup. She doesn’t go into details, and Dana doesn’t ask her to, but she knows enough bits and pieces to guess at what might fill in the gaps. Arcadia Bay gossip can _sometimes_ find a way to be helpful.

Even if she already knows the reality must be far, far worse than anything those rumors might say.

“I’m scared she might need help more than me,” Chloe finally admits, not even bothering to put up a token resistance as Dana guides them slowly toward her bed. “What if she’s — what if I show up like this and she just gets _angry_ at me? What if she tells me to get lost, like, how _dare_ I show up wanting help when she’s going through… _Fuck,_ I can’t do this, Dana.”

Dana sits Chloe down on the edge of the mattress and cups her face with both hands, smiling as gentle and open as she can. Hoping that maybe this might help to bring her back down. “Look at _you_ , half naked and still asking me about your girlfriend… Had me thinking all this time I was more than just the prettiest rebound in town.”

It’s meant to tease. To poke fun at a situation heavy enough to deserve it.

But Chloe looks up, and something behind her eyes pierces Dana straight through the heart. She looks broken and guilty and terrified that Dana would ever think she was being used. So, Dana doesn’t hesitate. She pulls Chloe into a hug, tucks her against the line of her collarbones and the small of her neck, and presses her lips hard against the top of Chloe’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Dana says. “That was a bad joke. I know you I matter to you.”

Chloe only nods.

So she pushes ahead. “You’re already out of your clothes, let’s — let’s get you into bed. You’re mine for the rest of the night, okay?”

And Chloe nods again.

Chloe lets Dana guide her every step of the way until they’re both wrapped up in too many too thick blankets, her head resting against Dana’s chest as she clings, worried, to everything she can. Arms, legs, and hands searching for more, more, more comfort with every passing second.

“I, uh,” Chloe sighs, after enough time has passed that Dana almost thinks she might have fallen asleep. “Could still really use that smoke. If that’s alright.”

Part of Dana — the rational part, she thinks — wants to remind Chloe that, no, she’s not okay with that. Not tonight.

The rest of her presses another kiss to the top of Chloe’s head, to her hairline and her forehead and the bridge of her nose, biting down a snort and stomping out the sudden crackle of something catching fire in her gut at the particular raspy tone of Chloe’s voice. “Tell you what,” she says thoughtfully. “If you _have_ to smoke tonight, I have some weed around here somewhere. For that, I’ll even join you.”

The comment, that olive branch, gets Chloe smiling ear to ear, so wide Dana can feel it happening before she knows what’s happening.

“We can watch one of your stupid movies, too,” Chloe adds, pushing herself onto elbows and staring down at Dana fondly; eyes sparkling with too much _everything_ for her to take it as anything other than the joke that it is.

She digs up her stash, crushing and packing and lighting up before she moves on to her laptop. She isn’t entirely sure the movie matters so much as the background noise it might provide for Chloe, so she picks the first one she finds and gets the whole thing placed and angled on her desk chair.

And she gets back into bed. But not before cracking the window. Not before handing Chloe the pipe and letting a stream of smoke out into the calm winter night.

“Chloe Price,” she says, finally retaking her spot. Chloe latches back onto her side like a magnet. “I can not _believe_ you convinced me to partake of the devil’s lettuce. And on a school night!”

All she earns is a smile.

All she gets is Chloe chuckling out cloud after cloud of smoke as they take turns finishing off the rest until the whole thing is gone with every shred of Chloe’s worry. Dana reaches up, reaches back, and places the pipe on the end table separating the window from them and curls back up against her side. And then, Chloe smiles. She chuckles quietly to herself, burying the noise in the shadow of Dana’s clavicle, and tilts her jaw just slightly forward. She lets her words and her lips and her teeth and her tongue dance against the skin of Dana’s throat.

“Ganja is for goons,” she says. And she snickers.

Again.

Dana doesn’t miss a beat with her answer. She’s the one who actually had to deal with those anti-drug posters someone taped up all over the lockers. All Chloe got was a text of one of them in the middle of her lunch shift. She’s not showing up anyone on _this_.

“Grass is crass.” Dana says.

Chloe hums something satisfied against her throat as she answers, “No thanks, blunt blazer.”

And this time, Dana laughs.

“I will never do one toke,” she says

And this time, Chloe joins in. She laughs too. Gripping just a bit tighter at Dana’s sides and pulling herself just a bit closer.

Neither has much to add when they finally come back down. Things feel good. As good as they can, considering. But even that much is still good. So, when Chloe starts drifting to sleep barely seconds later, movie already forgotten, Dana lets herself enjoy the moment. She lets herself enjoy the peace, and the quiet, and the occasional stray breeze carrying with it the smell of fresh snow and fresh air and just one more reason to continue holding Chloe close. One more reason to keep her thumb rubbing steady circles around Chloe’s shoulder.

She lets herself take comfort in the fact that, tonight at least, Chloe is safe.

The fact that, tonight, at least, Chloe chose her.

Because as much as she knows this isn’t her place, Chloe has been a crush for… forever. Since Dana first saw her on the first day she moved into town. It was instant, and it lasted for years, and even though it was never, ever, _ever_ her place, she kept those feelings. She kept them close and tucked away. She let them gather dust, secure in the knowledge that at least they were there; at least they weren’t gone; at least she could let them sneak back out for tiny flashes of tiny moments whenever they made eye contact from across a room, or the skate park, or a party, or…

And then… _that_ party happened. And Dana acted before she could stop herself, and Chloe was so enthusiastic, all that lithe muscle and almost too much experience matching each and every move that Dana made, and all those lopsided grins and meaningful glances and the way she nipped at Dana’s lips, and neck, and, and, _and_ …

And the feeling of her hands on…

Well.

It’s not her place to feel those things. She can take comfort in Chloe choosing her tonight, just as she does every day that Chloe chooses her. But that’s all she can do. Chloe needs someone, and right now, she has her. Neither of them need Dana’s feelings getting in the way of that.

…Maybe this was a bad idea.

A stray groan breaks the relative silence of the room, then.

It almost feels like an answer. Like the night agreeing with her to say _yes, this was a bad idea._

“Why,” Chloe exhales slowly. Softly. “Why the hell are you so comfy?”

Dana doesn’t answer immediately. She gives the question space to breathe; space to step all the way back from her feelings and to keep her from saying something stupid.

“You’re lying on my tit,” is where she lands.

“Oh.” Chloe swallows. “Well, you have comfy tits.”

If Dana didn’t know any better, she might have a thing or two to say about the nerve tinged, unsteady way those words leave Chloe’s lips. But she does know better. She knows she’s the only one here with unfortunate feelings.

And, sure, tonight might be a whole lot of Dana sticking her nose in Rachel’s business, feeling things she has no business feeling about someone she never should have gotten so close to in the first place; sure, people could probably call her any number of terrible names that, given the student body of Blackwell, would doubtless get more points for creativity than vulgarity; but her classmates aren’t here. And Rachel isn’t here. And tonight, Chloe chose her. So, maybe the least Dana can do is make sure Chloe is safe, and comfortable, and allow her feelings the room to run free until the morning comes around to beat them back into submission.

It’s harmless enough, just this once.

Right?

“Smell good too,” Chloe mumbles and murmurs as she nuzzles herself more closely against Dana’s chest. “Like… Baking? Warm.”

A beat passes where Dana isn’t sure what she means.

And then she remembers Chloe may as well be buried face-first in her cleavage. Chloe must be smelling what’s left of the day’s perfume. Dana taps on her cheek once, silently asking for her to turn as she holds her wrist up to her nose, and, _oh_ , that turns out to be a mistake when Chloe slides against the skin of her chest. Hair and breath tickling, brushing, sliding along places they distinctly were _not_ stray moments ago, Chloe’s cheek weighted steady against a nipple and, and —

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Chloe is oblivious. Obviously. She sniffs once at the tender skin of Dana’s wrist, and chuckles out a muted, “Yeah, that’s it. You smell like cookies,” before returning to her former position tucked away and sending hot, hot air from hot, hot breaths dancing and spreading and slipping down the collar of Dana’s shirt and up along every muscle in her neck.

If Chloe does anything else before sinking her way slowly back to sleep, Dana doesn’t notice. Her mind is already miles and worlds away, making up for the lack of physical distance by escaping to some alternate universe that she occupies when the many, many, _many_ overwhelming aspects of Chloe’s presence inevitably start to scorch the edges of her sanity. These days, she spends more time than she’d like in that corner of her mind. Too much time spent trying to right herself back to level, back to facing forward and running at a temperature that won’t melt every single inch of her insides and cause her to do something stupid.

And she’s there now. At least she is until Chloe moves again, because this is all so much _more_ than normal, and suddenly she’s jarred back to reality by the intense, world breaking sensation of Chloe moving somehow closer. One more inch of skin pressed to skin. Hands slipping under clothes. Legs weaving together. A single bead of sweat rolling down Chloe’s neck and into Dana’s shirt. And Dana isn’t sure how to do much of anything when she feels it other than to wish hopelessly that she was back in that cold, cold _cold_ corner of her mind instead of here.

That she was somewhere where the air itself wasn’t infused with the need to be closer and closer to Chloe until they’ve stepped over a cliff that offers no coming back.

Chloe mumbles something too quiet to hear then, cracking the faint beginnings of a smile as she seeks out a slightly more comfortable level of clinging-to-Dana’s-body. And, in another corner of Dana’s mind, she thinks she might know exactly what Chloe is dreaming.

Rachel.

All Rachel.

Always Rachel.

Honestly, she’s probably in Dana’s mind as often as Chloe’s these days; maybe the only presence in the world capable of matching every inch of Chloe’s intensity and still holding just enough leftover to remind Dana through nothing more than _existing_ that she will _always_ be the second choice. That she will _never_ be good enough to hold that position herself. That she will _never_ be able to take Rachel’s place. That Chloe will always be just out of reach. Even when she’s here. _Especially_ when she’s here. Especially when she’s close enough that all Dana would need to do is roll onto her side and let Chloe’s chin catch against the collar of her shirt and let Chloe’s lips wrap around…

…Maybe this was a bad idea.

~*~

The next morning comes slow at first, and then all at once. Like a bag of bricks to the face.

Some bird, a house sparrow or something else with one of those songless songs of nothing but steady, monotone chirping, is singing outside the window. Her window is still open.

That realization comes first.

That realization comes slow.

And then comes the crash.

The warmth and comforting weight of Chloe on top of her is gone. There are noises coming from the other side of her room. Someone getting dressed as fast as they possibly can and stifling down a series of frustrated curses as quiet as they possibly can and failing, completely and utterly, to hide even a shred of their anxiety and their fear.

Dana opens her eyes.

Chloe is sitting on the far corner of the couch, trying and trying and _trying_ to lace up her boots, but her fingers won’t seem to work no matter how hard she breaths. No matter how angry she gets at herself. Her eyes are bloodshot and her eyebrows have disappeared somewhere far underneath her hair in their worry. She ruins the knot again. The next curse is louder.

“Chloe?” Dana asks. Her voice is raspy with sleep and, frankly, probably the weed. She hasn’t had anything to drink since yesterday.

“ _Shit._ ” Chloe nearly jumps out of her skin. Her eyes lock onto Dana like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly Dana is worried that something here might really break if she doesn’t handle this carefully.

One more reminder.

One more inch given over to Rachel.

Dana sits up, blankets sliding away from her body in a stilted wave, and Chloe’s eyes nearly double in size as they catch on something distinctly lower than her face. “ _Shit, shit shit,_ ” she bites out, and scrambles even faster to tie up her boots.

Dana looks down at herself. Everything is in its right place. Nothing tried to escape overnight and she didn’t just accidentally flash Chloe first thing in the morning, but… there’s a bruise about an inch above the collar of her shirt. Right about where Chloe’s mouth settled when she finally realized she couldn’t breath with her face buried in Dana’s chest.

One more inch.

Chloe is Rachel’s.

Not hers.

Never hers.

“Chlo, nothing happened,” she says, gliding across the room to sit at Chloe’s side. To place a hand over hers and interrupt her latest attempt to escape. With her other hand, she reaches up to brush a thumb along the edges of the bruise on Chloe’s cheek. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind. “You came here because you needed somewhere safe to stay, remember?”

“…But — ”

“No buts.” Dana leans closer and kisses Chloe tenderly, gently, slowly on the forehead. She feels Chloe’s tension leave escape into the air in the very next second. “Nothing happened. You were the picture of innocence.”

Chloe nods, still slightly unsure. It slides the line of a shallow cut along the edge of Dana’s lips. So she turns, presses her cheek against Chloe’s skin instead.

“You need to say it, Chlo. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

That, at least, earns her a chuckle.

“…Picture of innocence, huh?” Chloe mumbles, and then turns to place a kiss of her own on the dip of Dana’s throat in the final few seconds before she pulls away. She lingers just long enough that Dana can already feel herself clawing for the safety of that corner in her mind.

But then, like always, Chloe pulls back. “Alright. So, nothing happened then.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Chloe snorts at that. “Sure. I don’t, uh — I don’t remember a ton. But. Did I — were you talking to someone when I showed up? I feel like I was an asshole. To… _Someone._ ”

“Mhm,” Dana hums. “But don’t worry, you were only rude to me.”

Dana throws a glance over to her desk. That brown paper bag of Two Whales leftovers is still sitting entirely untouched.

She looks back to Chloe.

Smiling.

“You brought breakfast with you,” Dana says. “How about let’s catch you up while we eat?”

~*~

In any other situation, it might seem funny how intently Chloe listens to Dana’s stories about her mother. Stories about how loud she is. How self-confident she is. How much she cares about the family she’s kept and the family she’s built ever since the divorce, yelling all the while about how _the family you find is always going to matter more than the family you’re born into, remember that Dana,_ because she’s always jumped at any opportunity to call Dana’s father a worthless asshole, and somewhere along the way she decided it would be better to turn that sentiment into a life lesson.

It worked, at least. Dana knows her mother has had it hard, and she knows how much her relationships matter to her. That knowledge has carved Dana into the person she is today. Spreading the light and easing worries wherever she can. Making every effort to see that her mother’s presence carries on in the hearts of others — even if only through her infectious happiness and unyielding strength — long after she’s gone, to people and places she’s never thought to go. To futures and unknowns impossible to imagine.

Talking about it, Dana almost feels guilty. Especially given what happened last night. Especially given Chloe’s whole life. But only almost. Because she sees the look sparkling in Chloe’s eyes — total, overwhelming awe and admiration — and that guilt vanishes like a whole lot of nothing when she takes her next bite of cold leftover fries.

~*~

“She’ll love you, Chlo. Like, no question,” Dana says, bumping shoulders with Chloe and rocking them both just barely back and forth.

Chloe smirks and steals another bite of Dana’s food. She was done eating it anyway.

Her _I know, because I do,_ goes unspoken.

Part of her hopes Chloe hears it, regardless.

~*~

There is, Dana thinks to herself hours later, without a doubt, a joke to be had about eating leftover diner food for breakfast, and then heading to that very same diner for lunch. Or, dinner. Whatever time and whatever meal it is. Explaining things to her mother and then staying late after classes to make up for how distracted _things_ made her threw off her internal clock somewhat more than somewhat.

She’s a little less sure about whether there’s any joke hidden in the looks she’s been getting all day. Her makeup is fine. Her hair is fine too. She checked, double-checked, and triple-checked her outfit. Nothing funny there, either.

The mystery has been something close to all-consuming, and it was only thanks to a day of surprise tests in nearly every one of her classes that she didn’t spend her _entire_ day worrying about it. Thank _god_ it didn’t come to that. She might honestly have lost it if it had.

But, then, now that she’s alone at the Two Whales and waiting on someone to take her order, there isn’t much choice but to let that question back in.

It has, finally, come to that.

~*~

“Oh. That’s where the damn thing went,” someone nearby says as they stroll up to the table.

Dana’s eyes snap immediately to theirs.

“Excuse me?” She asks, unsure and just slightly hesitant.

“Your jacket,” the stranger says, nodding in Dana’s direction. “That Chloe’s been out of her mind all day trying to remember what she did with it. Damn near drove me to take my lunch break three hours early.”

A pause allows Dana the time to soak that comment in. She only registers that the stranger is a waitress after it does.

And then comes the next realization: she’s wearing Chloe’s jacket.

_Oh._

Dana shakes her head faintly, trying to find something close to balance. “That…” she says, “Doesn’t sound like her.”

It isn’t really an answer.

But then, what could one more blurred together moment of nothing hurt in a day full of blurry, out of focus nothings?

“I thought the same thing when I heard about it this morning,” the waitress says, and sighs. “Now, what’ll you have? I’m sure there’s a _riveting_ story to be told here, but my patience is shot.”

Dana orders.

She waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And then Chloe is there, setting Dana’s order on the table in one second and leaning down, leaning close with one hand propped against the back of the bench in the very next. The surprise of the moment almost stops her from remembering that she should probably return the source of today’s problems. Only almost, though.

The thing that _actually_ stops her is that hand of Chloe’s sliding away from the cushion just to the side of Dana’s ear and settling on her shoulder. Of her palm brushing and her fingers squeezing and her smile growing and growing and growing until…

“Keep it. You look hot as hell in that thing,” Chloe near whispers, her voice husky and scratchy in all the right — wrong? — ways. The ways that whisper along the edges of every word that Chloe has no idea what her voice _does_ when it gets like this.

Dana blinks her way slowly through that clueless surprise until the only thing left to feel is Chloe’s infectious smirk baring down on her. Until she has no choice but to smile back.

And they talk.

No drunken midnight rambling. No panicked early morning fear. Just them. Just Dana, and just Chloe. Back to the way they were before. Back to the closest thing they’ve ever had to _normal._

_~*~_

And, if Chloe showing up again the very next night — distinctly sober and twice as happy as the last time — fills Dana with anything remotely close to hope, she makes sure not to let it show. She makes sure to bury it down where no one can see.

She lets Chloe talk her into another night spent watching movies and sitting too close, hovering too near to the edge of holding and touching and breathing in Chloe’s everything until she’s drunk on the feeling and there isn’t anything left but the feel and the warmth and the sound of her voice, and, and, and —

And it’s, maybe, a little stupid to get so caught up in her head over what she _knows_ is a one-sided crush that will never go anywhere worthwhile — one that neither of them will ever, ever, _ever_ be brave enough to do anything about, because to do so would mean ruining these lives they’ve each pieced together with broken fragments of bricks and mortar until the masks and the shield and the shelter is gone and the only thing left is vulnerable emotion and truths they aren’t strong enough to confront. Better to be like this. Friends. More than friends. Less than anything else.

It’s stupid. It is. Dana knows, but… she likes this kind of stupid. Despite everything. And she’s not willing to let it go. Better to stay in each other’s lives at all like they’re living in some sort of tragic, fragile will-they-won’t-they story. Better to be self-indulgent with moments like this. The moments that don’t matter. The moments with the soft skin of Chloe’s breasts pressing up barely, faintly against the side of her arm, the warmth of her bleeding through the air like it belongs there, and the rumble of her laughter shaking it all up until Dana’s brain nears a short circuit.

Better to stay like this.

She isn’t sure she could handle anything more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, as much as Kate would like to say otherwise, this is hardly the first time she’s seen Chloe this way. On one of the first, Chloe asked if believing in a god made knowing about and living with the sort of problems in their lives any easier. Kate didn’t have an answer then. She still doesn’t now. In the same way that, even though she has seen Chloe like this tens or even hundreds of times before, she has never seen Chloe like… _this._
> 
> Kate sometimes feels there might be something poetic in that. In the way that even this; the worst; the lowest point she has ever been witness to, still feels familiar.

The sound of someone dropping into the next seat over should surprise Kate.

At least a little.

It doesn’t. Not really; as it stands, enough time spent trying and failing to use her lunch break to study has passed that by the time it happens, she’s already more than distracted enough to barely half register the sound as a break in the static of her thoughts and the white noise of the cafeteria.

She assumes, at first, that her new company is Dana.

It is not Dana. It is, in fact, Rachel Amber.

Which isn’t _weird_ exactly, but it still _feels_ weird. They haven’t said so much as a word to each other ever since _the breakup_. Or, the _fight_ , or the _disagreement_ , or whatever they’ve all collectively agreed to call it this month whenever Rachel is within earshot. And, it isn’t the case — probably not anyway; it probably never was — but that change still makes things feel more and more like Chloe might be the only common thread left in their lives.

Maybe.

But it doesn’t matter. Kate isn’t about to stick her nose into any of it. Chloe is her friend, and Rachel is her friend, and even if gossip wasn’t the most childish way imaginable to approach all of this, gossip _still_ wouldn’t do anything but hurt.

And that’s the last thing either of them needs.

Still. As much as she avoids the gossip — tries to avoid it anyway — she _does_ know more about the details of that night than she should. It’s not as if she was there; she shouldn’t know anything about it at all. But. Knowing things she shouldn’t seems to be a side effect of friendship with Chloe.

And, it isn’t that Kate doesn’t want it to be that way; not exactly; it’s just that there is _something_ about Chloe. She walks into a room and she grabs your attention completely without trying. She takes control of conversations simply by _being_ , and you _want_ her to take control of it all, and it makes you forget all about whatever problems you might be having because her entire presence is just that strong. It makes you want to listen, and learn, and be a part of everything happening around her and damn the consequences.

At least, it feels that way to Kate.

Rachel’s hand slides up and along the back of Kate’s arm then, and she smiles — something strained and something small, but something _real —_ when she says, “Hey, Kate.”

“Hi,” Kate says. And she smiles, too. Just like she only barely flinches at the feeling of Rachel’s hand. “I missed you. How have you been?”

A thoughtful hum is the entirety of Rachel’s answer. At first. She squeezes gently at Kate’s elbow, letting her fingers and her gaze both fall away.

One heartbeat and then another, and another, and another bang up against the inside of Kate’s chest before Rachel says anything else. But when she does, the words come easy. The question sounds simple. Kate doubts it’s how Rachel really feels. Red lights thrown off by some vaguely Chloe-adjacent behavior Kate has only just started to become more familiar with, maybe. “Do you…” Rachel asks, smiling and resting her head in her hands as she leans forward and onto the table. “…You’re really close with Dana, right?”

“Yes?” Kate answers slowly.

And Rachel laughs a little, maybe at herself, or maybe at the tone in Kate’s voice. “Would you happen to know Dana’s new friend, Chloe?”

This time, Kate doesn’t flinch. She might not be able to see where this is going, but she knows Rachel wouldn’t ask a question like that without reason.

Especially not when she already knows the answer.

Not when Rachel is the one who introduced them in the first place. Rachel is the one who enlisted Chloe’s help with all of those fundraisers and ticket sales. Rachel is, however indirectly, the reason they’ve grown so close. Rachel _knows._

And if there’s one thing Kate knows for sure about Rachel, it’s that she doesn’t play stupid without some sort of goal in mind.

“Actually, I do! She’s an absolute angel,” Kate tries, slow and deliberate, and carefully choosing every last word. And, _okay,_ she thinks, _maybe angel is the wrong word._

But Rachel should know what she means. Because Chloe is _something_ more. _Something_ beyond description. And Rachel is, too.

Kate still thinks nightly about the moment she first realized. The day she put two and two together and came to the conclusion that Chloe just might be something like the human embodiment of Old Testament fire. Raging and uncontrollable. Comforting and dangerous. Romantic. Tragic. A guiding light for those willing to see her as she truly is, and something destructive to those who don’t.

She still thinks nightly about the realization that came after. The realization that Rachel, as the only one in the world to successfully soften those rough, harsh flares at the edges of Chloe’s presence, might be something similar. The realization that, if Chloe is fire, maybe that makes Rachel the sun. Steady, and unyielding, and always there when you need her. Maybe they’re that, and maybe together that makes them the stars in the sky and every sort of heat and light that they aren't strong enough to be on their own. Maybe together they are life, and destruction, and joy itself. Something pure. Something beautiful.  
  
Maybe.

“An angel?” Rachel asks with a faint tilt of her head.

Kate nods. And she smiles the slightest bit wider, hoping to mask her inexperience in this game Rachel has pulled her into. “She cares so much about the people in her life, Rachel. I’m blessed to know her.”

Judging by the shock in Rachel’s eyes, it wasn’t the answer she expected.

Judging by the grin toying at the edges of her lips, it was the right answer. Close enough, at least.

And Rachel being Rachel, it also means that Kate’s answer is the end of it. She drops the subject with one of those effortlessly mysterious looks of hers, and Kate is left without the slightest hint as to what any of it was about. They’re already moved on to talking about upcoming classes and projects and tests. Fundraisers. About upcoming plays, and football games, and anything else that Rachel might be able to use as an excuse to spend time together, all the way up until the moment when Dana — finally, almost their entire lunch break too late — manages her way over.

Whatever the answer Rachel found in Kate’s words, and whatever it _was_ that Rachel was looking for, Kate never learns what it was.

But she does know this: she isn’t naive enough to think that everything is magically okay again just because of one handful of minutes spent being dragged around toward some goal only Rachel could see. But that same handful of minutes is still the first time they’ve spoken since the incident. It is, for lack of any other more meaningful word, a first step. And a first step is still progress. And, sometimes, a first step is enough.

Even if the rest of those steps exist on a path carved straight through the _something_ building between Chloe, and Rachel, and Dana.

The something that Kate _wants_ to support.

The something that Kate isn’t sure she knows how.

~*~

The sound of Dana’s voice is the first sign that anything is wrong. The _tone_ of Dana’s voice is the second. Kate only left in the first place to buy drinks as an attempt at one more olive branch; one more step, and she didn’t exactly expect to come back to something so clearly meant to be private in a space so obviously public.

So she stops. Just short of being noticed. And she gives her best attempt at blending into the crowd. Kate sits down at a nearby empty table, puts down the drinks, pulls out her phone, and skims over old texts. She pretends like she isn’t eavesdropping. Because it isn’t her place to be eavesdropping. It isn’t _right_ to be eavesdropping _._ But she does. She is. She can’t help any of them navigate this _thing_ without answers, no matter how badly everyone wants to keep those cards tucked close to their chest, and maybe…

“Look,” Dana groans. She sounds almost more exhausted than Kate thought was possible. Dana _always_ has energy. “I mean this in good faith, even though I don’t think there’s a way to _ask_ that actually sounds like it’s in good faith, but, like… What is it about Chloe? For you? Why do you care?”

Kate thinks she can almost hear the way Rachel shifts in her seat, even over the buzz of the room. The way she straightens up and runs a hand through her hair like _this time_ the brush of fingers against her earring might wipe away all of her nerves.

She risks a glance. Just to be sure.

It is exactly how Rachel reacts.

And in response to her silence, Dana pushes ahead. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to shove my way into your territory or anything, it’s just… Like, Chloe _loves you_. I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to describe it, and like… Rachel, you are _rich_. Like, you’re like, _rich_ rich. And you’re gorgeous, and you’re _smart_ , and you and Chloe may as well be from completely different worlds, and you could have anyone you want, and I — why… Why Chloe? Why her?”

Their silence in the next moments is almost enough to convince Kate that she’s been caught. That maybe their attention has landed squarely on her. Another quick glance reminds her that she’s still safe. They have no reason to look.

“Have you met Chloe?” is all Rachel asks. And Kate thinks it might be all she _needs_ to ask. The way Dana laughs; a short string of breathy bitter nothings, convinces her completely. _Different worlds_ don’t exist for Chloe. If she wants something, she’ll always find a way. She always has, and she no doubt always will.

Kate doesn’t bother to listen to anything more. She takes a breath, stands up, and takes off for their table.

She doesn’t make it.

Because after barely two steps, she bumps headfirst into Victoria Chase. That, on its own, might be enough to get her worrying, but Victoria does more than just glare down at her. She follows her line of sight, tilting her head slowly toward Dana and Rachel. And she lets her gaze fall back to Kate before giving a slow, tired frown and a slow, tired sigh. Before breaking the flood of tension seeping into the air and the breaths and the seconds passing between them and replacing it with something altogether worse. And then she leaves. She shoves her way past, and shuffles — as close as Victoria has ever managed to a shuffle, anyway — straight out of the cafeteria.

It takes a moment for Kate to pull her eyes away. But she does, and she makes it back to her table just in time to see Rachel smile one of her fake, fake, too-fake smiles and just in time to hear her say in a perfectly serene tone of voice, “And, for the record? My _parents_ are rich. I’ll never see a cent of that money as long as I keep choosing Chlo,” and just in time to watch her leave.

If Rachel notices Kate’s return, she doesn’t let it show.

~*~

Walking back to the dorms with Dana hardly feels better. She at least acknowledges that Kate is there and that Kate is with her, but beyond that, she settles for a tense silence every step of the way, and Kate doesn’t have the first idea how to break it.

She never has, really.

“ _Take care of her,_ ” Dana suddenly mutters under her breath. “Like we’re in some fucking soap opera — what the hell, Rach?”

Kate flinches at the sudden noise, and Dana flinches when she notices Kate flinching at her. One of those days, Kate supposes. “…Sorry,” Dana grumbles. “I’m being rude. Just… I don’t understand her sometimes. How — how are things looking for your night with Chloe?”

“Good,” Kate mumbles. “I’m pretty sure it’s still happening.”

Dana turns away then. And if Kate were anyone else, she might not have seen it. The spark of something in her eyes. But Kate is Kate. And Kate did see something.

“Good.” Only the faintest bit of worry seeps into Dana’s voice before she smiles. She tries to hide it behind the rush of cold air that greets them as they step outside. “That’s good.”

At first, Kate lets her eyes drift away and over the snow-covered courtyard, still mostly untouched save for the freshly shoveled paths and the thin film of dirt covering everything nearer the road. But her mind drifts further, and soon her thoughts are grazing back over the particular way Dana asked her question. Her voice and her eyes and her hands and her whole entire presence. And a thought occurs to her: maybe, Dana might be the something that happened. Maybe Dana is the reason Rachel was asking about Chloe, and the reason she came to — of all people — _her_. Someone so completely and utterly removed from this whole thing that her only source of knowledge is Chloe grumping and grousing around a handful of cigarettes and encouraging Kate to do the same with her own problems.

Just, minus the chain smoking.

Obviously.

But maybe that’s it.

Maybe Dana is having a hard time letting go of her crush.

She could ask. Kate could come right out and ask if Dana is worried she might have sparked the end of this silly standoff the three of them have been in for _months_.

She doesn’t.

Because she trusts Dana. Just like she trusts Chloe and Rachel. And no matter what might have happened, Kate can’t make herself into the sort of person that might push a point like that. Not when it would pressure Dana into opening up about things Kate _knows_ she would rather keep secret. Not when it would lead to Kate betraying Chloe’s trust in order to explain that, no, Dana could never ruin things. Not between her and Chloe, not between Chloe and Rachel, and not between anyone else. Not ever. Not when the only consequence to be found is hardly even a consequence at all.

This is a trial of sorts, and even making mistakes will see them come out the other side stronger than before. All Dana needs is a little faith in the strength of the bonds she’s nurtured this far. Just like Chloe needs more confidence in herself, and Rachel needs more confidence in Chloe, all Dana needs is faith.

So, Kate _could_ ask. Because she knows enough to know the answer.

But she lets it go.

~*~

Kate lets the entire thing go.

She even manages to keep it gone! For hours!

Right up until she meets Chloe.

Because it’s what Chloe wants to talk about. And because staying quiet will only encourage her. And because speaking up will only encourage her. And because really, no matter how much she might want to believe, the idea of _actually_ washing her hands of everything she heard this afternoon was always something of a hopeless plan.

Especially here. Especially with Chloe. Especially tonight; one of _their_ nights. The nights where they go out of their way to talk; to make the effort to get these things out. To make sure nothing like that night at the lighthouse ever happens again.

At the very least, Chloe eases her into it. At the very least, they start their night exactly like always: sitting on either side of the bed of Chloe’s truck, legs all criss-crossed together as Chloe vents about any and every problem she has had, does have, or will ever have with the people in her life like she’s barely even talking about something heavier than the weather.

Things used to be that they would smoke together, too.

Because Chloe would never judge her for that. Chloe would never judge her for _anything,_ Kate has learned, but especially not that. They don’t still; not anymore. Because Chloe’s presence in her life helped Kate stop the smoking just like it helped to stop the drinking.

She never mentioned the drinking to Chloe.

She thinks she probably never had to for Chloe to know it was happening.

“So,” Chloe says through a satisfied exhale and pulls Kate away from her thoughts. “That’s me. How’ve you been, dude?”

There is a moment where Kate considers doubling back on her realization about keeping quiet. Where she considers letting it all go, only, for real this time. It doesn’t last long.

“Rachel and Dana were talking about you today,” she says, a step too blunt and matter of fact for her tastes.

At first, she gets nothing.

But Chloe’s mouth twitches in a way that tells her maybe that _nothing_ was actually a _something_. And then Chloe snorts, the noise stumbling into a laugh and the laugh tripping into a cackle and every last one of them sounding like they took Chloe completely by surprise. _Of course they were. Of course that’s my life_ , the sounds all seem to say. “Yeah?” Chloe chuckles. “What about?”

Kate isn’t really sure where to start. So, she just sort of _does._ She talks about Dana’s crush — something they all already know about, but something that Kate feels warrants mentioning nevertheless — and bounces from the things Rachel _said_ to the things Rachel probably _meant._ She only flinches a little when she mentions the fact that she nearly had a heart attack when it seemed like Victoria Chase might have caught her spying, and only then starts to realize that Chloe has gone very, _very_ quiet. So quiet that the weight of her gaze seems seconds from burning a hole through Kate’s skirt.

It takes a moment for Chloe to climb back inside of her own head.

It takes another for her to sigh, to rub her hands up and down her face and muffle a groan into her palms.

Another, and another, and another for her to answer.

And her eyes, when she does; her eyes are the eyes of someone who Kate thinks must have seen every sort of hurt there is to see in this world. The eyes of someone who has lived through too many of God’s trials back to back to back with barely two seconds of breathing room between and even less explanation for what it all means. It makes her look suddenly older. Worn out and tired, or, maybe in a way… distilled. Boiled down by life and simmered into the purest form of whatever was left. It makes her look beautiful, in a way. The sort of beautiful that good and proper Christians always _claim_ that good and proper Christians should strive to be — the sort of beautiful that only comes through suffering — and the sort of beautiful that Kate has never seen as anything other than terrible. The sort of beautiful that hurts to look at for very long at once.

And her _voice_.

Her voice is the sort of tired that people only ever are after being made to hold something too close to their heart for too many days. Something given free rein for far too long, constricting itself around the steady beat of that muscle, over and over again, growing thorns to restrain and hold back anything beyond the basest levels of maintenance and survival.

And, as much as Kate would like to say otherwise, this is hardly the first time she’s seen Chloe this way. On one of the first, Chloe asked if believing in a god made knowing about and living with the sort of problems in their lives any easier. Kate didn’t have an answer then. She still doesn’t now. In the same way that, even though she has seen Chloe like this tens or even hundreds of times before, she has never seen Chloe like… _this._

Kate sometimes feels there might be something poetic in that. In the way that even this; the worst; the lowest point she has ever been witness to, still feels familiar.

Something that, were she smarter, or better, or stronger, she might be able to point to and say, _there; that’s my answer; that’s why I continue to have faith in the face of it all._ But she isn’t that person. And the Chloe of the past took her silence with an understanding, friendly half smile, and never brought it up again.

It started Kate wondering if maybe Chloe’s own faith in a future escaped from Arcadia Bay occupied some sort of similar space in her mind as the God in Kate’s own. If that was why she asked.

But Kate never found the answer to that or the other, and she still doesn’t have answers now.

Just like she still isn’t that person.

So she listens, lips sealed as Chloe explains.

She listens as Chloe starts chain smoking her way through the answers. One cigarette for things Kate already knows, and one for things she doesn’t.

 _Okay. You’re already waist deep in this shit, probably shoulda cleared up some things months ago,_ Chloe says. Kate isn’t sure she _is_. But she also isn’t sure she wants to disagree.

It’s complicated.

Everything is always complicated.

Chloe’s answers, too, are complicated. The things she says are hard to hear and harder to swallow, but Kate still tries. Because no matter how difficult it is, listening this time feels like Chloe relying on her for the first time since they started this whole routine. The first time since this routine became a routine. And that — _that_ — makes Kate feel like maybe she’s been someone for Chloe to rely on this entire time. Without even realizing it. Maybe all those times when Chloe was sharing old war stories about her relationship with suicide and self-harm, helping Kate learn to grow back into herself, Kate was being helpful too.

So Kate tries, and Kate listens as Chloe tells her about Rachel.

And her feelings for Rachel.

Chloe still loves her. Obviously. That much has been clear from the start, but… Kate never really realized just how much love was there. Chloe still loves Rachel, and she feels _something_ for Dana and she doesn’t _want_ to feel something for Dana, because she’s terrified that acting on those feelings in any way might be the thing that finally ruins one of the few good things she has left.

And then Chloe mentions Victoria.

It hadn’t ever occurred to Kate that there might be something between them. But, according to Chloe, no matter how much Victoria tries to act like it isn’t the case, once upon a time — back before Taylor wrapped herself up in Victoria’s life and mellowed her out by eight and a half notches — she had her eyes set on Rachel.

And she has always, always, _always_ blamed Chloe for interrupting those plans. For putting herself between them and building herself up brick by brick until she had become an impassable wall between Victoria and her goals. According to Chloe, her anger has always been at least somewhat justified. According to Chloe, this latest train wreck only proves as much. Proves it to all of them. To anyone who cares. Because Chloe truly believes she ruins everything she touches. She thinks she ruined nearly everything to have Rachel, and she thinks the rest crumbled to pieces when she lost her.

_She thinks she lost her._

And when Chloe finishes; when Kate is shocked into even further depths of speechlessness and Chloe has long since worked through the last of her cigarettes, she changes course and brings up something much more recent.

Kate had thought, for a short, innocent second, that Chloe sounded exhausted before. Listening to her now, she isn’t sure she has the words to describe it. She doesn’t have the first idea what to say, or what do to, or how to help. So at first, she stays where she is. Frozen with indecision. Intently watching the wrung out, worn out husk sitting across from her talk about something Kate _knows_ she doesn’t need to hear but that she’s hearing anyway, because Chloe can’t seem to stop herself anymore. And then she gets an idea. Because she might not know how to help with any of Chloe’s problems, but she _does_ know Chloe. And that has to count for something.

She shoves Chloe’s legs off and out of the way and crawls her way over to her side. At first, Chloe watches it all happen, one eyebrow quirked in question. When Kate drops her head on Chloe’s shoulder, she continues watching.

“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” Kate says, and thankfully, magically, it breaks whatever spell Chloe was under. She slinks an arm around Kate’s shoulders and smirks a small, barely-there smirk.

“What, _touching?_ ” Chloe jokes, trying her very hardest to fill her voice with something light.

Kate shrugs. She nods once. “My family isn’t really…”

She doesn’t need to say anything more.

Chloe knows.

“Well.” A string of tired laughter interrupts Chloe’s answer for the briefest stretch before she continues. She sounds like the life is slowly pouring back into her. “Thanks. Means a lot, comin’ from you.”

Kate smiles a small matching smile.

And Chloe nods, and goes on with another faint chuckle, “Nice to know I still have someone.”

The noise of protest Kate reflexively rushes to make dies in her throat before it gets the chance to come to life. Chloe has more than just her. She hasn’t lost anyone. But. Saying so won’t change anything. It won’t help. Actions have always mattered to Chloe more than words, so Kate will just have to find some way to prove it.

~*~

At something of a loss for ways to properly thank Kate for cheering her up, Chloe settles on driving her back to Blackwell and walking her back to the dorms. And truthfully, Kate appreciates the chance to keep their night going for even just that much longer. The chance to bask in the knowledge that she _is_ helpful, and that she _is_ important to one of the most important people in her life.

The chance to find some way to convince her. To explain that everyone Chloe cares about still cares about her.

And then comes the problem.

The first thing they see after getting to Kate’s floor and saying their goodbyes is Dana, fresh out of the showers. Before she can stop it, Kate feels herself tensing up with nerves _for_ Chloe because she isn’t quite sure what to expect after everything else and everything she learned.

But she builds up the courage to look. And she breathes out everything but her relief. Because Chloe is smiling her smug half smile, and looking at Kate like she wants her to know that everything is okay, and that she only needed to vent and to be with a friend until she could get her head screwed on straight.

So, Kate lets it go.

She knows for sure she made the right choice when she reaches her room and hears something like innocent bickering and hushed laughter, and looks over to see them getting along as easily as ever.

“Why do you smell like vanilla?” She hears Dana ask, confused as she sniffs at the air around Chloe’s collar. Chloe tries to bite back a smile. And fails at biting back that smile. “And… Caramel? Is — Chloe did you steal my perfume? Christ, is _that_ where it went?”

That smile turns into a snicker, and Chloe looks too, too, too satisfied with herself when Dana keeps going and scoffs a halfhearted scoff. When she throws her hands on her hips in some equally feigned gesture of disgust. “Chloe Price using perfume! What is this world coming to?”

“Hey, don’t knock it! It takes a _lot_ of work to look like I don’t put in any work,” Chloe says with one sweeping move of her hands.

Kate doesn’t stick around to hear anything else.

She doesn’t have to. Chloe is doing just fine.

~*~

Later — much, much later, and far too late to check the time — The sound of angry voices and a slamming door jolts Kate back awake. At first, she does nothing. It isn’t her business. And even if it was, drama is hardly new around Blackwell.

But when one of those voices starts to sound familiar, she crawls her way out of bed and peeks hesitantly out to investigate. All she finds is the lights off and the hall empty. The doors all closed.

She isn’t entirely sure what she expected. Rachel, maybe. Taylor.

_Chloe._

But the only evidence that anything happened at all is a light flicking off before Kate can catch which room it came from, and the sound of heavy footsteps retreating, echoing down the stairwell too fast to know whose they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this chapter posted on Thursday but it was nnnot really at a point where I felt comfortable showing it. Sorry about that!
> 
> I'm still not feeling _great_ about it, but Kate is kind of a weird character to write compared to the main three in Feathers. Oh well! Good enough! Post it! Can't sneak in more edits if everyone's already seen it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it’s easier. Easy enough. Easier still isn’t easy. Her eyes pass slowly over the first name and her breath hitches itself to a stop, traps itself in her throat. She reads it again. Again. Again.
> 
> _Rachel._

If Chloe focuses all of her attention inward, she can almost still hear Dana getting upset. She can almost still see the hurt in her eyes and the way she curled back into herself like Chloe saying _no_ was somehow the most painful thing she had ever experienced.

Almost.

She can only _almost_ hear, because traffic is backed up about two blocks down and trapping her in the Two Whales parking lot. Forcing her to stay put while the chorus of honking horns that think maybe just one more will _really_ make that difference walls in almost every last one of her thoughts.

Hours have gone by since she first decided to lay out in the back of her truck; to watch the afternoon sky; to kill the time. She has had the time to kill a lot of time. Traffic moved ahead by barely four cars since she started. Maybe more. Maybe not. Hard to tell when no one is keeping count but her.

Another car horn honks.

Once.

Twice.

A gust of wind and snow. Chloe’s cigarette burns itself out.

More horns.

She stubs the butt out on the nearest wall of the truck bed.

A distant car door opens.

Someone yells, too far away to be easily understood.

And then the radio in the cabin of her truck chimes out the intro to a breaking news segment. Something about a downed group of trees less than a mile out of town. It doesn’t matter so much, having a reason won’t help any of it go away faster. Chloe sighs. She flicks away the butt of her cigarette with one hand and reaches for her phone with the other.

Three unread texts.

“ _Ow! Duuude, not cool!_ ” A nearby voice whines. Nasally with the cold and so familiar Chloe can almost _smell_ the weed wafting off every word. Chloe chuckles faintly to herself when she realizes, slides her phone back into her pocket.

“Get over here, Justin.” Chloe hauls herself up to sitting. Throws out a lazy wave. A simple snap of the wrist from right to left, her hand following the path as if led around on a leash. Justin stops in his tracks, bundled up in about three too many layers and cheeks dusted with enough pink under the cold to be almost red. He grins something dopey and far too big for his face.

He looks quick to Trevor, matching smile already in wait, and then back to Chloe before asking loud enough to be a yell, “Can Trev come too?”

They’re both standing no more than three feet in front of her.

It is something of a miracle that Chloe doesn’t crack a smirk of her own.

“Yeah,” Chloe says. She slides herself to one side of the truck and gestures over to the empty space of the rest. “Yeah, c’mere already, you couple of dumbasses.” They listen, and they shuffle, and snicker, and shove their way over, but not without first putting up some token resistance.

“We’re not dumbasses,” Justin grumbles, lighthearted laughter fighting against his tone and fighting to escape in the space between words.

“Yeah, we’re more like — like the two stooges,” Trevor says thoughtfully, and nods seriously. Justin shoves him one last time before taking a seat.

“It’s _three_ stooges, dude. _Three._ ”

Chloe lets them go on like that. Bickering about nothing. About the stupid little things they always catch on like _I’m not a stooge, you’re a stooge,_ and _does that make Chloe the third stooge,_ and _don’t call Chloe a stooge, that’s fuckin’ sexist, don’t you remember what Mrs. Grant said about respect,_ while she calmly lights up another cigarette for herself. Small bursts of air not quite enough to be chuckles interrupt the process every time one of them says something _especially_ stupid. She doesn’t think they notice.

They certainly don’t stop, anyway.

It feels, even with Trevor and Justin being Trevor and Justin, like they all know something is wrong and like they’re all trying their hardest to pretend like that something is fine. But maybe it’s just her. It’s probably just her. Projecting. So Chloe brings up something else. “Fuckin’,” she grumbles, cigarette gripped loose between her lips and smoke pouring out on either side. “Victoria was here a few hours ago. Right before my shift ended.”

Trevor, at least, goes quiet. Patient.

“Icky Vicky strikes again! Wait — what the hell have you been doing here for hours?” Justin asks. Barely one second goes by before Trevor smacks him on the back of the head and reminds him, _we had to walk here because of the traffic, moron._ In almost the same instant, Chloe throws her arms out toward the road in equal parts demonstration and disbelief.

But she still answers.

“She had some shit to say about how I’ve been,” Chloe says as Justin recovers, already mostly bounced back to normal. “God, how did she put it? I’ve been d _isrespecting Rachel by spending my time in someone else’s pants._ ”

Nothing. From either of them. So Chloe continues.

“She left before ordering.”

This time, something. Justin.

“Oh, _riiight._ ” Realization washes over him, and Chloe can already feel Trevor reeling back for another slap as Justin searches the limits of his mind for just one more word. “You and Dana… Honestly? I don’t see it.”

It is admittedly more tact than Chloe expected. Trevor, too, stands down.

“Wait — you _didn’t_ , did you?” Justin asks suddenly, expression torn between something like distress and pride, and, _ah,_ Chloe thinks, _there he goes._

And the slap, and the bickering, and fighting, and the back, and the forth begin right on cue. Chloe lets herself take advantage. To sink into her own head and find some way to work her way out of this one while she still has the chance. Because, no, she hasn’t fucked Dana. She watched, throat dried to near uselessness as Dana tried her absolute hardest to do _something;_ puffed her chest, and cocked her hips, and stuck her nose in the air as she talked about… _Something_. Something that Chloe was too far gone to hear because Dana was half naked, tank top still slightly damp and riding up her hips.

And her legs…

And the way Dana kept watching her, smiling for her; the way Dana kept touching her — soft, soft, soft, always so _soft,_ always so afraid Chloe might break into pieces, always apologizing for any hurt a thousand times over with her eyes before her lips think to do the same _—_ and the way Dana kept leaning further and further into her space, and…

The way she kept dancing around the subject, so clearly unsure whether the mystery she was dangling right in front of Chloe’s face was _really_ worth mentioning, or whether she should simply lock it up inside of her heart and leave it there to die. The way Dana looked… up — _up_ into her eyes.

And Chloe said _no._

Chloe threw herself back onto the street because she said _no,_ because she never expected _Dana_ to be the thing that broke — never expected Dana to be the one to brush so close to ruining the thing that they had both trying to _keep_ from ruining — when Dana was the one who had spent so long fighting to keep things together in the first place. Every last action a repetition, _I can’t break this,_ like the world’s most useless mantra. Some ineffectual chant that doesn’t and didn’t and won’t ever have any effect.

And Chloe couldn’t, can’t, won’t let it break. Can’t lose Dana like she lost Rachel; like she lost Joyce; like she lost any sense of safety in her own home; like Max; like William and like she always loses everyone she ever has ever will ever ever ever cared about until she’s all alone again like always and forever and…

And…

And. Besides. She still…

So.

No. They didn’t fuck.

Not that that makes any of it any easier.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Comes the follow up. Justin winces in anticipation of whatever Trevor has planned next and pushes himself away, scoots himself another inch closer to Chloe before he says anything else, hands held up in surrender. “I only ask because _that_ ,” he nods toward Chloe’s arms. “Isn’t yours.

Chloe blinks. And she looks down at herself. And. Well. Fuck. Bright purple. White sleeves. Dana’s ridiculous silk bomber jacket. She must’ve taken it with her last night without realizing. “ _Shit,_ ” she hisses.

A glance back in Trevor’s direction reveals something at least slightly more understanding. Easy enough to forget why he would try so hard to keep Justin in line despite their mutual thing for Dana. Easy enough to forget he was there the night the rumors — probably — started. Easy enough to forget Chloe practically bowled him over trying to run away from a room that smelled like smoke and almost-sex, like almost having sex could have a smell; a room where Dana still sat confused, jeans unbuttoned and shirt halfway to off.

Bra more out than it was before she got Chloe’s hand on it, over it, seconds away from under it.

One long exhale escapes before Chloe can stop it. She looks Justin straight in the eyes. “No.”

“Oh. Cool. Cool,” Justin says, nodding too much and deliberately avoiding either potential gaze. “Cool, cool, cool. It’s just… You should hear the shit people are saying, dude.”

Chloe keeps staring. Scowling. For maybe a little too long. Too many seconds. Too many car horns and too many faraway, out of focus shouts. But she does, eventually, look away. Justin doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just jealous. Or curious. High. Some unfortunate combination of the three. He gets talkative when he’s most of those things.

Chloe doesn’t need to ask what the rumors are like, or what the rumors are saying, because she’s lived in this town long enough to know none of it matters. None of it ever matters.

It never gets anyone anywhere useful. Nowhere but twice as trapped as they were before.

~*~

Once the traffic finally clears, they end up at the skate park.

Some fairly enthusiastic talking up happens before Chloe feels motivated enough to bring herself along for the ride. Because bringing herself along for the ride involves driving everyone over herself. In the end, the promise of Justin trying to manage skating over ice — _just imagine all that extra air,_ he’d exclaimed, _ice is just nature’s speed boost! —_ pushed her to join.

And, he _mostly_ lets the matter drop on the drive over. Mostly. He asks one or two more times, and then never again because Chloe feels just slightly too frayed and just slightly too close to snapping that some fraction of her control flies out the window before she can stop it, and she answers his pestering by grinding out her cigarette on his knee and saying _no, but I did get her on top of me._ At that, his mouth clamps all the way shut.

Trevor hits him again, and Chloe thinks it might be because he talked with Dana about what happened after she stormed off that night. Because maybe he’s just one more person in the hell town of Arcadia Bay unfortunate enough to exist on the periphery of things that matter. One more person unfortunate enough to be trusted with the truth of the unimportant things everyone has chosen to see as important.

~*~

Their trip starts with skateboards. One skateboard anyway. It starts with Justin borrowing Chloe’s board and crashing his way into about three different — completely, utterly, entirely expected — bruises, and laughter, and ice, and it ends with a quick trip to the nearby corner store. With the three of them back in the bed of Chloe’s truck, watching the sunset as they share a shoplifted forty.

Chloe lets Trevor and Justin go back to their bickering. She lets them fade into white noise, and she spends her time fiddling with the new chips and scratches on her board as it sits across her lap. She lets them fade into white noise, and she thinks. Remembers. Every last detail of her fight with Dana.

She remembers the way Dana looked at her like she was inches away from asking for _more,_ even after everything she had said _._ Everything she had promised. Even knowing that Chloe’s feelings for Rachel won’t ever go away.

Chloe remembers how she turned Dana down in a frantic, panic-fueled huff because… She can’t. She won’t. Not if it means breaking them in all the same ways she broke what she had with Rachel.

Not ever again.

So, their trip starts with that.

It ends with Trevor and Justin taking off on their own before the light completely fades into night.

It ends with Trevor hanging back for a short few seconds and looking over his shoulder once, or twice, or five different times while Justin stumbles mostly unaware down the street.

It ends with him taking the chance to shrug like it’s nothing at all and say to Chloe, “You know, if nothing else, it’s probably good the rumor mill can sometimes get things _almost_ right.”

_He knows, then._

“Maybe,” Chloe grunts.

They stay that way when she does. Unspeaking, unmoving, un-everything. But Trevor grins, like maybe he knows that was a terrible conversation starter, and maybe they’ve never really had reason to talk about something this serious, but maybe, too, he understands where Chloe’s head is at. There’s a slow, sage nod from Trevor when the thought really registers in Chloe’s mind, and he’s relaxing; taking a half seat back in the truck because maybe he doesn’t want to be sitting for whatever is coming next.

“Hey, so, I still think you and Rachel are like… Endgame shit. But, dude? You know Justin was never in it, and I fell out of the Dana race forever ago. I’m, _easy, but she’s not looking for easy right now,_ whatever that means.” A hand claps her shoulder, and Trevor turns and starts jogging to catch up with Justin before Chloe can find a chance to interrupt. “Just, you know, if you’re thinking about it!”

~*~

_Blonde hair, hazel eyes, easy, easy, easy smiles, standing too, too close to someone that isn’t her._

Chloe sees Rachel on her drive home.

_She drags her palm over the top of her head, pulls, tugs, drags her hair out of the way._

_Maybe not Rachel._

_Probably not Rachel._

The edges of her vision have started to blur.

_Just slightly. Just barely. Just enough._

Chloe sees someone that looks enough like Rachel to send her mind somewhere unfortunate.

Just her imagination. Unfortunate imagination.

She thinks about Frank.

Chloe does not want to think about Frank.

So instead, she pulls over and off to the side of the road, and she grinds the heels of her palms into her eyes. She drops her face against the steering wheel. And she pulls out her phone. Stares. Three texts look back at her, every dark letter burning its emptiness into her eyes as they sit framed against the sharp too, too bright light of the screen. She stalls. Dims the screen as much as she can. Gives reading another go.

This time, it’s easier. Easy enough. Easier still isn’t easy. Her eyes pass slowly over the first name and her breath hitches itself to a stop, traps itself in her throat. She reads it again. Again. Again.

_Rachel._

**Hey.**

**Miss you, Priceless.**

She doesn’t realize she’s staring until the screen fades to black and takes the light along with it. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until that feeling starts sparking a fire against the walls of her lungs.

~*~

 _“Here.” Dana said. She laid back, tucked her head and the rest of her into the crook of Chloe’s arm. The contact had Chloe ready to jump out of her skin. A constant electric pulse whispering,_ this was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, along every strand of hair it raised. _But she didn’t. She breathed. She let Dana move. And she thought inexplicably of Rachel. “I need to moisturize, and if you’re gonna be here right now, you’re putting up with it.”_

 _“Sure,” Chloe had croaked in reply. She masked the feeling — the_ something _that refused to be named living on the edge of her voice — by breathing out a short laugh. By absentmindedly adjusting her position so that they were almost front to back; so that Dana wouldn’t have to stay balancing against her with a grand total of one corner of one rib._

_It was easy, then, to watch in relative silence. To bury the flicker of that feeling down where it could more easily be ignored, only chiming in with the occasional word or two or three to let Dana know she was listening. Still participating. Still there._

_It was easy, too, to watch as Dana ran palms down her legs with the same sort of ease as she found in everything else. Chloe watched, because it was easy._

_Chloe watched, teeth sinking faintly into her lips, and she thought about Rachel._

_Denying that — that her thoughts were miles away from everything happening in front of her — was much more difficult. She tried anyway._

_Her denial lasted all of one heartbeat._

_Because Dana swept her fingers up and over the curve and the soft skin of her thighs next, all plush give and firm, flexing muscle, and then her fingers were sliding back down. Careless. Unaware, obviously, of Chloe’s thoughts racing to replace everything else with Rachel._

_She had hoped talking to Kate would_ fix _it. That, maybe, it would give her a clearer answer._

_Maybe it had, after all._

~*~

Chloe’s breath returns with all the grace of a punch from the inside of her ribs. She nearly chokes on the feeling. On the burn of suffocating lungs coming into contact with air once again. Her vision blurs just slightly more as she fights the feeling back. Focus slowly losing its meaning. The lines of her body fading away to nothing. Fuzziness crawling in slowly from the edges as the rest spills out, out, out.

Real becoming _less_ until everything is that much closer to looking and smelling and tasting and _feeling_ like a dream. All that time with Kate must’ve tanked her tolerance. It must be that. It can’t be anything else.

She looks to the third text.

Not Rachel.

Dana.

Her phone clatters onto the floor before she lets herself read. She doesn’t think about Dana.

She thinks about Frank.

She doesn’t want to think about Frank.

~*~

_Chloe dragged one hand over her face, over her mouth, and looked away, ears and cheeks absolutely burning and her heart practically beating itself raw and bruised inside of her chest._

_It was a bad idea, coming here. Awful._

_“No peeking!” Dana singsonged, a far cry from the admonishment it was no doubt meant to be. She nearly hummed it, in fact. But Chloe wasn’t peeking. Dana could get changed in peace. Chloe wasn’t peeking._

_Truthfully, Chloe wasn’t doing much of anything beyond turning her entire self inward. Toward Rachel. She needed to leave._

~*~

Frank isn’t Rachel’s fault. Nothing is Rachel’s fault. Nothing. Not ever. Not ever, ever, ever, _ever_. Not her. Never her.

Not that.

And.

Chloe needs to apologize. Chloe needs to call. She needs to call, or text, or shoot a fucking flare into the sky and hope it summons Rachel like magic. Find some way to apologize. And she needs to do it tonight. She needs to do it yesterday. Last week. Last month. The very same day she started the worst spiral of her life by ripping Rachel out of her life like a knife from her skin.

She needs that. _Needs_ it. Just like she knows that she won’t do anything about it — not yet — she needs it.

Stubborn pride, maybe. Or fear that Rachel won’t want to hear a single word after the things she said. The things she blamed on her.

It doesn’t matter.

She needs to fix it.

They need to talk about Frank.

But Chloe doesn’t want to talk about Frank.

~*~

 _“You know,” Dana said as she settled back into Chloe’s arms. Damp hair, warm skin, shampoo and apricot_ something, _too, too, too close, too, too, too soft. “Rach sorta cornered me earlier. Like, not so much literally, we were sitting at the same table, and — anyway, I’ve been thinking since then.”_

_Chloe fought down a shudder. She kept the fire confined to her throat. “Yeah? What about?”_

_Dana made a small thoughtful noise in answer. Something so_ her _, so familiar, and comfortable… And, still, something that only served to remind Chloe of Rachel._

 _“You.” She shimmied her shoulders back and forth, snickering as she unintentionally — only_ maybe _unintentionally_ — _slid just that much deeper into Chloe’s arms. “And me, I guess. I don’t… The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. You know that, right?”_

_Chloe nodded. Stiffly, but enough to still serve as an answer. She dropped her head forward; let her eyes fall closed as she pressed her nose and her lips to the top of Dana’s head._

I do, _the touch said,_ I know.

_Dana preened under it. She grinned, reached a hand back, and up, and scratched gently at Chloe’s scalp. “You mean too much to me.”_

_Again, Chloe nodded._

_And with a nod of her own, Dana went on. “So, yeah. I just… You’re you, and I’m me, and maybe I don’t need to keep thinking so hard about…_ This. _You know? We’ll figure out whatever it is as we go. It got us this far.”_

 _She turned then, another quick wriggle and shuffle, and suddenly she was lying face to face with Chloe, smiling so bright and so warm that Chloe could almost have mistaken it for the smile she_ wanted _to see. The face she wanted to see. The voice she wanted to hear._

~*~

Dana is easy enough to find when Chloe pulls up to Blackwell. She tells herself, over and over and over as she marches toward the dorms, fixing things with Rachel can come later. Not tonight. Not until she fixes _this_. Nothing left unfinished. Nothing left broken unless Chloe can say that she tried and failed, and it was too broken to bother in the first place.

~*~

_Dana didn’t move._

_And, her face was… really, really close, lying like she was. Close enough that Chloe could almost make out every individual eyelash and every last fleck of color scattered around the shallows of the deep, deep blue in her irises. Close enough that the dull buzz of her whole presence, like a live current racing through her veins, was filling Chloe’s body for the first time in months. For the first time since the first time she made this mistake._

_She was close enough that Chloe could see the way her lips were just barely chapped with the cold and the lingering scent of mint. Close enough that there was no way to avoid inhaling her every breath, and_ oh —

Oh — _it would be so easy, just as easy as before, as the last time, as the first time, to lean in until the tip of her nose brushed against Dana’s and her eyes fluttered closed and they were kissing before they had any more time to think._

~*~

She’s almost naked. But then, of course she is. Wearing that outfit again. Always with that outfit, lately. The too small shorts and the tank top with the too low collar. Chloe thinks, dimly, that she might have said something, apologized maybe, but everything that matters faded one or two or ten more steps before coming here; faded somewhere along the way like the final seconds of a dream. Peeling scraps of paint picked at for so long that now the whole wall is bare and the once solid line between in and out no longer exists in ways that make sense. And. Now, she isn’t sure of much beyond that she came here to do _something_ with Dana.

To Dana?

To Dana.

Her vision hasn’t cleared up.

Breathing has started to become something of a challenge.

But it doesn’t matter.

She’s drunk. That’s all.

She isn’t sure of much else beyond the way Dana’s eyes crinkle when she laughs. Because when it happens her nose crinkles too, and Chloe thinks that it might just be one of those things. Those things that belong so thoroughly to the way someone acts and the ways someone is that you can’t quite comprehend how dangerous they might be until it’s already too late. Dana’s smile is that. Warm and heart-stopping and before you know it, you’re maybe a little too close, and your vision is maybe a little too fuzzy and Dana is beautiful and intimidating and you realize that no one like her could ever be _just_ that — could never be _just_ warm — and maybe you misjudged more than a few things on the road to here, but you’re too far gone to do anything about it anymore.

Chloe did. That. Misjudged.

~*~

_Chloe’s thoughts belonged to Rachel. All of them. Everywhere. Always._

_Chloe gasped._

_Chloe’s breath stuttered and tripped and crashed to a stop._

_And —_

~*~

Dana is definitely speaking. She’s definitely saying _something_. She’s saying it slowly, purposefully, giving Chloe that puppy dog look that says she understands _something_ is wrong, even if everything is too unsteady, too out of focus, too, too, too much to tell what any potential something it might be.

And then her hand is on Chloe’s jugular, the pad of her thumb tracing the line and —

~*~

_— And, then,_

_“Okay?” Dana asked. There was more to the question. Chloe didn’t hear. Wasn’t listening._

_She still managed an answer. Somehow._

~*~

No.

Chloe’s hand.

Chloe’s hand is tracing down Dana’s throat, and Dana swallows, and Dana looks unsure, and she swallows, and she must know, deep down, what Chloe is thinking.

~*~

_And…_

_And Rachel._

~*~

Chloe’s back slams against the wall of Dana’s room before the door has time to swing fully closed.

The last thing she remembers is…

The last thing she remembers is realizing in the vanishing seconds before _this_ that Dana’s presence has been like a haze all this time. And Chloe barely realized it was there until it was choking out the very concept of air and replacing it with her, her, her. Dana’s presence is their first night together; it’s that night at that party, dragged and stretched out into the days and weeks and months that have made up every bit of their time since then. It’s smudged lipstick and the smell of winter and smoky breath, soft skin and a soft, soft, _soft_ body.

It keeps trying to drag Chloe back into its bubble, that haze. Into the bubble where there isn’t anyone but them and the whole world is faded away because nothing else matters. Little hiccups. Little stutters. Little scratches in the infinite line that makes up time where they can forget.

It tries.

Chloe can’t feel anything but _soft._

It tries, but…

Chloe has spent too long in a different sort of bubble.

And after so long, she isn’t sure anything on earth could pull her out.

Chloe’s mouth is at Dana’s nipple, moving on instinct as her mind occupies itself with bringing focus back into focus. With clearing away the fuzzy edges and making everything make sense.

There is a fire. A flame. An unknowable, indescribable _heat_ that the haze will never be able to pierce. Never be able to replace.

Something clicks.

_Rachel._

And something breaks inside of Chloe.

She chokes out the beginnings of a sob, and suddenly she isn’t where she was, her teeth are buried in Dana’s throat, and her hands are at Dana’s hips, and they’re both collapsed and half sitting on the floor, wet fingers pulling away and a shirt sliding back into place and —

She cries.

Chloe cries.

~*~

_And,_

_Rachel._

_“Chloe,” Rachel had asked — another night, another time, a moment so far removed from everything happening that the Chloe from back then would probably have laughed at the Chloe of now — and, oh, her voice. Her smile, and the tilt of her head, and the way she was watching, waiting, hanging on Chloe’s next word like she could guess at what the answer to her unspoken question might be but still needed to_ know _. Because maybe Rachel felt nervous, too. “What would it take to convince you?”_

_Chloe floundered. Completely. She did that a lot, in those early days. Not that the feeling ever went away. Not really. Chloe learned to mask it, is all. To hide it. To throw it back in Rachel’s face until they had both escalated things so far and so high that the stars themselves began to feel within reach._

_But this was still then._

_And so, Chloe floundered._

_“How about… um…” Her mouth felt suddenly too dry for words._

_She looked around. Anywhere and everywhere but at Rachel, helplessly hoping the words might come, hoping she might magically remember how to say what she meant. How to go back to being the version of herself that existed_ before _Rachel. The version of herself confident enough to say something as simple as, “a kiss.”_

_The version of herself strong enough not to be thrown into speechlessness over something as simple as the most popular girl in school searching for excuses to be closer and closer, and to touch more and more… and…_

_Okay._

_Maybe it made sense that she couldn’t find the words._

_But, then, “Oh,”_

_And Rachel was smiling, smiling, smiling and Rachel took her hands into her own, and Rachel’s lips were close and then not, and then she was smiling again, and finally her lips were_ there, _and_ perfect, _and so far beyond description that Chloe didn’t think she would ever have enough words to describe the feeling no matter how many more chances life might have seen fit to bless her with._

~*~

Broken.

Chloe broke this.

Like she breaks everything.

~*~

_Chloe pushed Dana away._

_Shoved, more like. They both nearly fell to the floor with the sudden force of it._

_“No, I… Fuck, Dana, I have to go.”_

_It wasn’t that easy. Nothing is ever that easy._

~*~

Although… Dana doesn’t _look_ broken.

Still in once piece, actually.

Maybe she didn’t break.

~*~

Dana is there to catch her, and Dana is there to help her through the fall, and Dana maybe understands something with a sudden, crystal clarity, because she promises: Chloe might slip, and Chloe might stumble, but as long as someone is there to help — and sure, Chloe hasn’t always had a someone, but maybe Dana can be that someone — nothing will break ever again.

~*~

And maybe Chloe comes close in the process of repairing, but nothing ever _really_ breaks.

Not anymore.

Chloe and Dana build something together, coated in the ashes of that night. Something they take every precaution to protect, even as Chloe slips, and even as Chloe stumbles. It weathers everything the years think to throw at it.

It promises to keep Chloe from falling low for as long as it can.

~*~

Chloe and Rachel drift back together, and they drift back apart, and they repeat their dance over and over and over, but they do not break.

They promise to leave Arcadia Bay together, no matter what happens, and no matter what might try to stop them, and they do not break.

~*~

And something happens.

 _Max_ comes back.

~*~

Max comes back, and Chloe slips, and Chloe stumbles, but still nothing breaks.

Chloe slips, and Chloe stumbles, and Max is there to catch her when she falls.

Chloe and Rachel bounce apart. No farther than normal, no farther than usual — no matter how much it feels otherwise — and Max is there.

Chloe and Dana, too, drift apart. Lives that have always been building in different directions finally reaching their crossroads. Their point of no return.

And Max is there.

~*~

Max pulls everything back together, and Max promises.

_Forever._

Max promises forever, and Max starts to feel like the one person on earth capable of stopping her before she so much as _risks_ slipping, or tripping, or stumbling into a fall.

Max feels like the one person on earth capable of keeping Rachel from doing the same.

~*~

And maybe she is. Because finally, finally, _finally_ , Chloe escapes. Chloe escapes Arcadia Bay, and tears are in her eyes, and something is caught in her throat, and Rachel is there with her.

Chloe escapes, and Max is there too. The one person on earth strong enough to help them both break free.

~*~

_Forever._

~*~

~*~

~*~

Chloe’s phone rings. Once. Twice. Again.

~*~

Once. Twice. Again.

~*~

She sighs when she sees the name. She smiles, lets her eyes fall closed against the chill.

~*~

“Fuck, I missed your voice,” she says. Breathes. Smiles. Still. Always.

The voice on the other end of the line says something, and Chloe breathes out the faint traces of a laugh. The shape of it, but only a hint of the sound. Then another, and another, and her eyes slowly find their way back open.

“No,” Chloe says, not bothering to hide the joy from her voice. Not that or the smirk, lazy and lopsided and bleeding into everything down to the way her breaths carry over the line.

~*~

The voice says something else.

“No,” Chloe repeats, this time gripping her phone just slightly harder, a matching _something_ bubbling up warm in the pit of her stomach. Her laughter breaks free in its place — or maybe it was laughter all along, that feeling — chasing eagerly after the smile, and it floods her every last nerve with more of that warmth. “No, that — that sounds incredible, dude. It’s been… ”

“ _Years,_ ” The voice on the other end helpfully provides.

At that, Chloe coughs out another chuckle. “Shit, _years_.”

She closes her eyes, still smiling against the soothing breeze and the dark. This week, they’re in some too rich for their blood hotel in the heart of LA, courtesy of Max’s current employer. They’re here until the next. Or maybe the _next_ next. There’s a strange sort of comfort in that. In following Max’s career path like a map and bouncing from coast to coast and city to city. It’s new. It’s familiar. But most importantly, it’s everything they wanted even before they knew any of it might be a possibility.

And when or _if_ it stops being that — if they ever feel like slowing or stopping or, god forbid, _settling down_ — they’ll change. They’ll adapt.

Like they always do.

A bus drives past. First of the day, probably. The engine sputters and pops as it slows, shattering — for a moment, anyway — the peace of the night.

Chloe looks out to the street. Lamps breaking through the black of night with hazy yellows, golds, orange pillars of light. The occasional car rumbles by in the aftermath of the bus, white headlights wrestling for dominance with the scattered markers lining the road as they come, and red, red, red sliding into place, pushing the light into losing the fight altogether and fading off into the distance.

It’s too late — too early — for much more.

The silence of a busy street not yet busy — traffic lights blinking a lullaby into the dark and pleasantly cool air dancing and flowing and swimming free through her lungs — has always helped Chloe relax. Helped her think.

Dana says something else on the other end of the call.

Chloe doesn’t hear. She can imagine, at least.

_Max did this. Max arranged this._

A pair of arms slide around her waist from behind, and Chloe laughs again as those arms reveal a body. As they reveal the feeling of a cheek pressed squarely between her shoulder blades.

“Who’re you talking to?” Rachel. And there comes that you-can’t-run-from-me smirk in her voice. If Chloe had a pen in that moment, she could probably draw its exact shape, exact angle, the exact way shadows fall over and across it and every last detail making up the quirk of her lips. Instead, she settles for tracing it all across the back of Rachel’s palms.

When she’s done, Chloe turns and wraps an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. Pulls her closer. Holds her tighter. Smirk tucked against her collar, hands tucked against her chest, heartbeats slowing down and leveling out until they bring themselves to a matching pace. “Dana. She’s gonna be in town next week.”

Rachel follows after the motion like water rushing to fill empty space until she’s tucked safely into Chloe’s side, the both of them leaning out over the balcony to live in the peace of the sunrise. Rachel feels more like that, these days. More water than fire. Flowing slow and gentle, lazy and quiet and soft. More quiet, sleepy relaxation; a constant calm washing over everything, letting everything wash over her in turn, now that she doesn’t need to struggle between compartmentalizing and spreading herself thin, thin, too thin between everyone she knows and charms and sees. Now that she doesn’t need to burn brighter than fire and flames, brighter than the stars themselves in order to mask the years worth of hurt. Chloe, maybe, is a little like that too.

“ _Awww,_ ” Rachel coos, voice still small and raspy with sleep. “ _Dana._ ”

“ _Awww,_ ” Dana echoes barely a second later. “ _Rachel._ ”

Chloe breathes out another chuckle at that, her own voice still low and rough less with sleep than with the years of smoking behind her. Monsters of the past finding some way to stick around and ensure she stays marked with reminders of their presence. “She says hey.”

“ _I said more than hey!”_ Dana’s voice cracks through the air, loud enough for Rachel to hear.

And Rachel clicks her tongue in response. She snatches the phone out of Chloe’s hands with a familiar spark of mischief already rippling through the sea of her eyes. “I know, I know,” she says, phone to her ear as she confidently stares Chloe down. “You said more than hey.”

Chloe watches, warmth pulsing steady through her chest, as Rachel winks and glides far enough away that she’ll need to follow if she wants to stop her.

They both know she won’t.

“So, Dana,” Rachel says, smiling more smiles, and humming one and two and another answering hum. “I really am sorry I gotta steal Chlo, but it’s ass o'clock in the morning over here, and Max is coming home from her shoot in like an hour. I’m not letting her hide.” Another pause. “No, not even with you.”

Another hum. Another smile. “Mmh. Next week!”

Rachel hangs up. She doesn’t give Chloe her phone back. She _does_ , though, grab her gently by the hand and guide her slowly, slowly, slowly into her arms, and in for a kiss, and back inside, and into their bed.

It’s new, having mornings together like this in every way that they always wanted and yet could never have back in Arcadia. The mornings are as new as the weight of Rachel in her lap is familiar. As familiar as touching, tasting, hearing, feeling, everything, everything, _everything,_ every last detail of her body and her reactions. The way her eyes flutter closed and her voice goes faint, husky, mouth just barely cracked open when Chloe touches her like _this,_ or when Max touches her like _that._

And, this, that — all of it down to the gentle breeze in the air — is more than Chloe ever thought she would have.

She flexes her fingers against Rachel’s bare thighs.

And she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the end of this AU! For real this time!!!
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who stuck around, and thank you to everyone who takes the time to leave comments, I love reading them all!


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